


the raw glare softens and clings

by the_ragnarok



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Consent Issues, M/M, Stress Relief, Switching
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-08
Updated: 2019-07-08
Packaged: 2020-06-24 20:24:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 801
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19731145
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_ragnarok/pseuds/the_ragnarok
Summary: Finch's jaw is trembling. He stares straight at the monitor before him. His normally steady hands are making a mess of code he should be able to write in his sleep.John sighs, walks behind Finch, and puts his hands on Finch's shoulders.





	the raw glare softens and clings

The backspace key on Finch's keyboard has a distinctive sound. Usually, John hears it once every few minutes. Now, it's getting hit every fourth or fifth stroke.

Finch's jaw is trembling. He stares straight at the monitor before him. His normally steady hands are making a mess of code he should be able to write in his sleep.

John sighs, walks behind Finch, and puts his hands on Finch's shoulders.

Finch stills, except for the shaking, which John can feel under his fingers. "I beg your pardon?" His voice is quavering, affronted. He sounds older than he should.

"Harold. Go to bed. You're no good to anyone like this."

"I daresay I'm no good to anyone while I'm sleeping, either," Harold snaps.

"You're good to me," John says, then stops and reevaluates what just came out of his mouth. He decides to stick with it. He repeats: "You're good to me."

On the monitor, a row of semi-colons just jumped into its second line. John gently lifts Harold's hand off the keyboard. Harold lets him, wrist limp in John's grip.

John tugs Harold after him, still careful. Harold is wobbly standing up, and John is ready to intercept him if he falls, but there's no need. They make it to the camping bed in the back of the library without incident.

"Are you going to tuck me in?" Harold's voice has lost most of its venom. He sounds resigned.

John is contemplating a number of responses, but what comes out is, "Yes." He moves the blanket aside, waits for Finch to settle himself on the bed and covers him. On an instinct he doesn't question, he bends and kisses the top of Finch's head.

"There's no need to mock." Harold's voice is slurred with fatigue.

"Who's mocking?" John stays close enough that he can smell Harold's hair. Neither of them showered in the last 48 hours, and that must be weighting on Harold, too: another indignity. He kisses Harold's hair again, and moves down to kiss him on the hairline, on his forehead.

He retreats a little, just enough to take in Harold's expression. Harold's lips are slightly parted. "Do you want a good night kiss, Harold?"

"Do I have a choice about the matter?"

"Always." John waits, not breathing, until Finch gives an infinitesimal nod. He only means to touch his lips to Harold's, soft and chaste, but Harold makes this _noise_ and suddenly John is kissing him in earnest.

His knees hit the library floor before he realizes what's happening. It's okay, he can still kiss Harold from the position. Harold grabs him by the hair, demanding. John moans into the kiss. It would be so easy to give in, let Harold have the upper hand.

John withdraws. "No," he says, half-coherent and clinging to his original intentions. "Let me-- let me."

Harold looks unfocused. He nods. He releases his grip on John's hair.

John returns to the kiss, makes it slow, makes it good. He breaks it again to ask, "Feel like getting off before your nap, Harold?"

"I was attempting to, when you--"

"Shh," John says, and again, "let me." He scoots on his knees until he's facing Harold's erection, a subtle bulge under the blanket. He pushes the blanket aside and opens Harold's pants with one hand, not immune to showing off.

Harold feels good in his mouth, feels right, like it's John's place to be on his knees before this man, let him take his pleasure in John's mouth.

No. John struggles with his own mind, with the desire to subside. Harold's tired, and Harold needs to be not in charge, and John will provide it. John is the one taking, the one forcing pleasure on Harold and deciding the moves. He will make Harold squirm and cry out and come, and then sleep.

Harold does squirm. He tries a few more times to assert dominance: whispered commands, a hand in John's hair, bucking up to chase John's mouth when John withdraws.

John doesn't allow it. Every time Harold tries, John stops until Harold subsides.

By the time Harold comes, he's barely even conscious, his cock only half-hard in John's mouth but leaking out come nonetheless. John sucks on him, eyes closed, and lets go of the mental reins once it's clear Harold is asleep.

Harold normally doesn't get off before John comes at least once. Now John reaches into his own pants with the taste of Harold's come still on his tongue, jerking himself slow, slow. He's tired, too.

There's no room for two on the camping bed. There's barely room for one. John tucks Harold back into his pants and covers him, then stretches out on the floor and closes his eyes.

It's not subservience this time. Just keeping guard of what's his.


End file.
